


Jötunheim's Fate

by AlexNow



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Kid!fic at first, Reencounter, What really is Loki's story?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 15:27:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1715531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexNow/pseuds/AlexNow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <span class="small">There is no way to avoid destruction. Not even the slightest wave of magic could escape the notice of Odin’s lone eye, for; the All-Father is not identified nor known for surrendering on the result of the mercy in the eyes of his pathetic victims. Jötunheim has seen this personally.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>-ON HIATUS-</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jötunheim's Fate

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for the roughly written one-shot but it is my first time writing based on this fandom. Excuse my horrifying vocabulary. Before you continue on reading I’d like to clarify something about the fanfiction before you make me questions. It is about Darcy Lewis herself and I wanted to say that, no, she does not freeze at the touch of a Jotun because of the magic that same Frost Giants possess and has been used upon her to not, well, slaughter her accidentally.  
> 
> 
> And this fanfiction will be _very_ confusing, considering the years between along the Asgardians and Midgardians here are the same, only, I have decided that here the years of ages of other realms –that are not mortals- are delayed after a certain age.
> 
> Remember, I know absolutely _nothing_ of working on the weather and storms and shit. Don’t blame me for knowing not one bit of Ms. Foster and Dr. Selvig’s work.
> 
> I don't have a beta (never have had until I wrote one fiction story), I rarely proofread too so tell me if you notice an error. Enjoy!
> 
> Enjoy!  
>  -Alex  
>  And, _for the love of God,_ please leave a comment or simply a kudo if you liked it! It doesn't even take two seconds!

**~.~**

The frost winter air sweeps at the clothes of young Darcy Lewis and she clutches her winter coat tighter to her slender frame, the sleeve bundling under his jaw and grazing her skin and she shivers along with its feathers. Her eyes flounce over the shadows of the dark place, and not far away she can distinguish with her youthful eyes the tall border of her house where her father is still desperately waiting. She tilts her head to her left and blinks rapidly as some dry surplus of rock manages to find its way into her eyes. Once noticing the danger her eyeball surpasses with the wind she brings a hand up to shield it from hurting any more, and she juts her bottom lip out in plead.

“I think we should go back.” She whispers to the figure beside her, edging closer to it to whisper into his ear, as if afraid someone else might hear her soft words in her childish tone, so naive and deficient of factual dismay. She only receives a smile in return as the figure not so much taller than her turns to request further attention before she once again decides to let her eyes roam elsewhere into the dark.

She would rather not be afraid, much like any other times she has been found in this same condition, but she has no control over her feelings when she is caught up between the familiar mountains of rocks in the bliss of a cold night. It should not be the fault of a nine year old much like herself to be afraid in this situation, but when she lives in a much different world than of where she was born it _is,_ and no one could prove her wrong considering her statement is only true. After she’s been living in Jötunheim for two years now along with her ten year old friend she was supposed to find familiarity in her new home, especially when she’s been having these rare adventures absent of their fathers. But, only, this is the first time they’ve wandered so far away from them.

She is shushed of the chattering of her teeth by an immediate warning noise from the back of the other’s throat. Darcy hurriedly presses her teeth against one another to avoid causing any more sound, and possibly trouble on the way.

“What is it?” She asks in a low voice against his cold shell of his ear. Into the sinister dark she can only just barely see her pant mark itself into the freezing breeze before flying further in the air and disappearing from her restricted vision. She uncurls her fingers to prevent her nails from digging deeper into the opposite sides of her wool and instead holds into his thin shirt, of which she occasionally envies of without meaning to. Not that she would ever harm her young ally, but it’s rather difficult to _not_ feel spiteful when every day she has to cover herself under layers of never-ending thick garments to prevent herself from dying frozen whilst he can waltz around in no more than jeans and act as if he were under the scorching sun. However, she tells herself again, it’s in his nature. Not hers.

“I reckon we are being searched for.” He murmurs in response, and nonchalantly reaches both his hands behind him to grip the wrists of the hands that are still clutching onto his Midgardian shirt (which, Darcy may include, she had given to him as a gift long ago when they scarcely knew one another). He tugs on her wrist, and she feels a ghastly reaction of dismissal as she lastly lets go of the cloth on his back with reluctance. However afterward he is pulling her forward until she is no longer behind him, but beside his slim form, and he lets go of one of her wrists. He not for the slightest second looks away from peering around the broad stone as with the wrist he has not let go of, he manipulates the position of their hands until he laces them together.

Neither of them are taken by astonishment with each other’s actions. No shock follows after he makes their palms press together, or when she squeezes his hand in fear, because it is not the first occasion they have had to hold each other’s hand in order to not lose one another in the dark. He is, by all means, caught off guard when he lets the tone in her voice sink into his ears when she responds.

“Loki, if our fathers have ordered them to find us, doesn’t that mean we have worried them enough?” Darcy whispers, cautious as to not assent to the warriors take notice of them even though she is confident they are not here to injure them in any way, but to take them back to the palace. She still speaks low, nonetheless, because she is not sure if he wants to be discovered yet. Recently these days it’s all been about just that with him. Hiding and not wanting to be found.

His wide eyes and he quickly turns to her as he stares incredulous, amazed by what he just heard. He doesn’t say anything, and he just stares, and for the next two minutes of his staring Darcy never notices his gaze because she is too busy letting her eyes stare up to the Frost Giants which are now desperately calling their names. She is too caught up in the thought of how their names fit perfectly well next to one another.

“Darcy,” He whispers into the cold night, his voice barely making it into his ear before it is blown away, “Are you truly scared?”

Darcy blinks and looks to the side of her to catch the silhouette in her gaze and furrows her eyebrows in confusion at his question. _Is she?_ At the silenced response of her part at his inquiry Loki grins and laughs, loud but he doesn’t seem to heed whether the Jotuns have heard him or not. He seems amused as he continues laughing, and Darcy glares at the side of his head. She punches his arm not so good-naturedly and doesn’t even mind if it hurt him or not. Loki pretends that she had beaten him roughly, though, and yells in false pain. At the staged reaction, Darcy rolls her eyes.

“I am _not._ ” She responds defiantly, crossing her arms across her torso and trying to daunt him. This only causes Loki’s grin to grow wider as he gazes at her, and his mouth opens to mock her, to taunt his friend whom not once he has seen this scared, when blue arms matching the color of his own skin catch him from behind.

The same occurs to Darcy, and she yells in surprise, her eyes enlarging when she perceives the Jotuns staring gravely at her. She knows at once she’s in a dilemma, and that she’ll unquestionably be grounded by her father for scaring him again.

When she seeks out aid from Loki (as she frankly doesn’t feel very fond of the idea of arriving to the fortress to knowledge the rage of Mr. Lewis) she witnesses him already being dragged away. He’s jerking, bellowing, and threatening to tell Laufey that they had harmed him but none of it is necessary enough to make them at least somewhat surprising to the warriors.

“Laufey had previously anticipated that sort of reaction.” One of them tells Loki, and Loki pauses for a moment to let it register into his mind before kicking against their bare chest once more.

Darcy cries out and reaches for Loki, her short arms uselessly flaring around hoping to somehow reach Loki’s safe shirt to feel reassurance, but it’s of no use. Loki is already being dragged away en route of the flaring lights belonging to the castle and Darcy’s growing desperate for his touch. It may not be as warm as she frequently would crave (for, his azure skin is icy enough to freeze her scorching broth with an effortless tap within seconds) but just knowing that it is his lets her know that they will be just fine.

Loki’s vivid ruby eyes turn to her for an instant, and he murmurs one word. One promise. And it’s enough to let Darcy know they’ll see each other again, whether her father forbids her to ever see him over again or not.

_“Darcy.”_

Darcy sniffs and smiles at him, staring at the backside of the Frost Giant that had shoved him forward to stop them from talking along the way. She lets the other one carry her in his arms as they near her home and doesn’t speak at all.

The Frost Giants, well, they simply roll their eyes at their well-known dramatic expense.

 

 

In conclusion Mr. Arthur Lewis does not stop her from talking to her friend, but he does make sure that whenever they do these ‘adventures’ they have someone keeping an eye on them to stop them from doing something rash and dense. Arthur knows better than to tell Loki’s father that he’s an appalling influence on his daughter.

“Shall we try to mount this again?” Loki asks, his eyes slowly trailing up the rock mountain towards the very top of the sky, barely visible to Darcy. Loki says this offhandedly, as if not suggesting they try and climb a terribly tall peak just to end up falling again. Darcy just stares at him, waits for a moment where Loki will say he isn’t talking seriously, waits for a moment she knows will never come.

“We’ll surely get into trouble.” Darcy responds, and her eyes move back to stare challengingly at the rock. Loki is already fisting at the edge, though, looking for a rock jutting out to use as his first step upwards towards pain.

Loki turns over his shoulder and his lips curl in a smile. Darcy swears she sees a glint in his red eyes, “Well?” He says, “Aren’t you going to climb with me or are you leaving me alone?”

Darcy sighs, because Loki knows her too well. He shouldn’t bother to ask if he already knows the answer.

They had managed to escape the Frost Giant’s watchful eye and decided to do something fun as they are already breaking the rules. The days have passed since the time they wandered too far, and the day Darcy was scowled at once again.

They slowly make their way up, and Darcy’s gloves made it difficult to go as fast at Loki. The wool either makes her hand slip from the cold rick, or gets stuck on an edge, making her almost surge downwards to the floor. But they at last make it to the top in the accompany of the other, the only cause of her literally breaking her leg being that Loki lingered to wait for her at one point as well as afterwards used one hand to secure her jacket against his palm just in case.

The crown is just as it has for all time been. It’s smooth and extensive, for which Loki acquires the occasion to saunter to the rim and be seated down, his legs treacherously sagging underneath towards the ancient land. He doesn’t utter a word, but Darcy knows him enough to recognize that he wishes her to assemble at one side of him. She does just that.

In the distance the lights are still iridescent, and Darcy visualizes Laufey-King discussing with her father about their ‘businesses’. Darcy on no account questions what they’re talking about, mostly because she knows that even if her father manages to enlighten her on what there is to take be concerned on of Jötunheim, she wouldn’t be able to make a difference on it.

“Do you see that, Darcy?” Loki unexpectedly asks, his eyes never moving from the zenith of the deepest heavens, where several stars shine brighter beyond, “It’s them. They are calling you, asking you to join them. ”

Darcy angles her head aloft to one side and absorbs his words, her eyes wandering about the sky. They settle on a lone plain twinkle, and it mirrors into the shine of her gaze. Loki’s stare is on her, although she doesn’t budge. After being Loki’s ally for two years she had learned what that look meant, and past the first occasion she received it she never moderately managed to make her own gaze attach with his ever again. Even at the young age of nine Darcy has her precautions.

“And one day,” Loki whispers, “You will.”

 

 

“Jötunheim!” He yells, and he raises his arm up to heave his sword, “It has come to its end!”

There are collective cries of harmony, all of them gleeful of the idea of one of the nine realms being punished and now facing the consequences for their actions. Each and every one of them bear polished gold armor, mostly covering their face from any damage. They hold up their weapons, imitating their king.

It is not at all difficult to see them close together below the bullion columns and that they are indeed sure of their victory. Until this moment there have been too little battles they have lost. They are prepared to fight for their lands. It is the motive of why they are here.

But then he senses a presence at his side and by the lack of a lofty gloom he knows exactly who is in search of his attention. When he turns around and below him, it is enough to see that he was correct. He is not at all amazed to see light-colored locks at his feet.

“Father,” The small stature says with wide eyes shining blue, the shade of this own land’s skies. His voice carries upbeat to attain his father’s ears, “Is it true that you are to battle against another realm tonight?”

Odin holds his head high as he feels the gaze of all his men, knowing the confirmation that is to come. He glances past them and sees Frigga staring at him with no emotion on her features. But if she opted to wed a king she should have seen that not only was she marrying a ruler, but also a warrior.

“Yes, my son,” He responds and crouches down to be at his level, “Tonight we shall claim victory!”

The last word is shouted for everyone to hear, and he gets a synchronized yell in respond. A wry smile hangs along his lips as he reminds himself once again that he has the power to be in command of them all. And he had promised in an oath long ago that he shall only use it in the well of others.

“I am to come with!” Thor shouts with his eyebrows furrowed in desire, and he waves his fist around, “I want to fight!”

Odin frowns and makes sure to keep his eyes connected to the other’s blue, brushes the strands of loose hair away from the pure face of his son, Thor’s clenches hand is still at his side, and it’s tightly holding nothing but air, in a way Odin is sure Thor wishes there were a weapon securely wrapped under his fingers.

“It is not your time, my son.” Odin says as softly as the severity of his tone allows. Thor’s eyes broaden for a second before they narrow once more and he looks angry.

“But, Father! I’m ready!” He attempts to reason. Odin sighs and shakes his head.

“Except, Thor Odinson, where you’re not,” He replies serenely, “For, you have forgotten all I have taught you.”

“You have taught me courage! Is that not enough?” Thor cries out, and his young arms wave around while showing nothing but fury.

“Courage does nothing but oppose to cowardice!” Odin yells this time, “And to succeed a battle you not only require attacking those around you!” He stands to his feet and pays no heed to the small child as his feet, who is no taller than a twelve year old boy.

“For Asgard!” Odin shouts, facing all his people.

 _“For Asgard!”_ They respond.

 

 

“Perhaps it is better not to fall asleep here,” Darcy whispers, as if afraid to ruin the beautiful silence with her harsh breathing. Loki shakes his head and doesn’t move his head from facing the village.

“It is best that we stay here for a while longer,” He responds and Darcy opens her mouth, “And _do not_ ask why if you are not sure that you want to hear the answer.”

Darcy stares at him, unblinking, and she waits for the explanation anyway. She knows Loki would never lie to her and that he will explain his assumptions clearly if needed to. He never lies if he’s sure she can take the truth. So far, he hasn’t lied once.

Loki sighs, and swiftly grabs her hand before deciding that giving an explanation of the topic now is better than having to suffer later. He knows it’s a wise decision to grab her hand first because when she’s agitated she tends to do the most irrational things.

“There are invaders, and they are not expecting a warm welcome.”

Darcy doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Loki doesn’t turn to her as he doesn’t want to perceive what her expression transmits. It’s enough that Loki’s vision in the dark has made him grasp what was happening much more previous to Darcy. It wasn’t a moderately pleasant sentiment knowing he couldn’t possibly tell her if she didn’t inquire. The very last thing he would ever want to do is upset her.

“Who are they and why are they here?” She’s never seen an outsider before, ever since she moved from Midgard, but she barely remembers what another mortal like herself looks like.

Loki frowns and feels her nails dig into the back of his hand. “My father has angered them by not keeping his word. It wasn’t a very wise decision to do so, but he had thought that if they ever planned to attack at his land they wouldn’t succeed. He was wrong.” He purposely ignores the first question, since he doesn’t want to have to say that simple word aloud for their ignorant ears to hear.

“We’re losing?” She asks, and scoots closer to try and make Loki look into her eyes. Loki doesn’t, and he stares into the opposite side of where she is. The opposite side of the village.

“By many, Darcy.”

“Well, then? What are we doing here!” She shouts, and jumps to her feet, startling Loki in the process. He looks up to her and doesn’t make any more to join her actions, “We cannot just stay here watching while we know our home is turning into ruins!”

And there is the irrational action Loki was waiting. Sometimes, he thinks, he knows Darcy a bit too well and it’s annoying him to no end. He slowly gets to his feet and tries to calm her down before she jumps off the mountain in attempt to save all Jötunheim and be the hero of all nine realms. But she’s already climbing down rapidly, dangerously making her foot slip more than a couple times.

He sighs and positions himself on his knees with his back facing the edge, before blindly looking for a rock to step on and following her down. He must reach her before she runs off into the dark and slams into a boulder again.

“Darcy.” He grabs her arm and stops her from running off, and she turns around to glare at him, pulling at her arm and trying to get free. She’s foolish if she thinks he’ll ever let go to let her hurt herself.

“Let go of me, Laufeyson!” She yells and pulls harder. It’s no use. Loki’s Jotun genes let him to hold on her tight, and he doesn’t move an inch as she tries to pull at him with all her strength.

“You can’t possibly allow this to continue! Your people are in danger! Do you not care for those who have cared for you?” She asks, and her large brown eyes wait for his response. He stares down at her and loosens his hold only a small bit because of his fear to hurt her.

“I have already my job.” He responds, and pleads for her to understand him and his actions. She doesn’t.

“What is it?” She challenges, and the intensity of her glower is strong.

“By Arthur Lewis I was requested to keep you safe and out of danger. I cannot do that if you enter the battle.”

“And you listen?!” She yells, and pulls again, trying to grab hold of anything near her to help herself shake away from his grasp.

“I am a young warrior. I must.”

“Well, I believe it’d be wiser to talk to me not as your warrior responsibility, but as your friend!”

Loki doesn’t respond to this. He has nothing to say, or at least nothing that will be of help of the situation. Making Darcy angrier will not help at all. Therefore he reserves himself and keeps quiet.

“You knew of the battle that was to come? All Jötunheim knew and none of you thought about me enough to tell me?” She asks when she sees he’s not going to respond, “You _knew_ they’d come?”

Loki smiles wryly and laughs. It isn’t a pleasant laugh but they almost never are meant to be.

“Don’t be unreasonable, Ms. Lewis,” And she grimaces at the name because when he uses it means she isn’t talking to Loki, but Laufey’s son, “If we knew they would be coming we would have never been preoccupied. We would have surely won the fight with our preparation.”

The end of Darcy’s eyes water, and she sniffs back tears as she hates to cry. Especially in the presence of someone she’d maybe consider her best friend.

“You’re saying we’re going to lose.”

Once again, Loki refuses to answer.

 

 

The doors are unsurprisingly the same dull color of every other thing in the place. Gray mostly, with a hint of a sadistic blue. The doors open, and by the time there’s enough to see what’s on the other side, there are tall Jotuns on each side of the room with Laufey on his throne accompanied by what Odin unexpectedly seems to be a mere _mortal._

“Laufey-King,” Odin greets in a menacing tone of voice, it carrying along the walls as his words echo with each spring, “I would have never presumed you to have achieved on reaching such a low position as to risk your life in the arms of a sheer Midgardian.”

Laufey smiles, a vile emotion on his blue skin with his red eyes showing nothing but remorse. But even someone who is not a citizen of Jötunheim such as Odin could clearly see the doubt and fear behind the gaze. Odin doesn’t drop his gaze and he gives his order without turning to his warriors behind him.

“You have upset me, Laufey-King,” The All-Father says piercingly, and from the corner of his eyes he sees his warriors start approaching the Frost Giants, “And by that you should know that you have enraged Asgard and its people.”

“You ought to know more than to inquiry my actions by now.” Laufey shoots back, and his hands twist into fists as he stays seated, though Arthur tries to calm him down with a glare that does not come as noticed. Laufey was hoping it’d just be quite a quarrel with an unmerited agreement of his branch, though he distinguished it wouldn’t be anywhere in the vicinity of what he should have by no means believed.

Then there’s a grunt coming from a Jotun and then silence. A sign that one of them has finally been slaughtered by a petty Asgardian. Laufey finally calls this battle to a start.

 

 

There’s complete silence between the two, something that is both well-known and unfamiliar between the two. Though it is not their choice this time, despite the fact that Darcy’s heavy panting is enough noise for both of them to make.

“Darcy, I don’t believe your loud breathing is helping the situation any more that we need.” Loki points out, and sighs as he hears her take a sharp intake of breath, because he knows his preference of words will bring him nothing kind from Darcy in return.

“Oh, I _apologize_ , Loki, for annoying you with my alarm!” She responds mockingly, “I never meant to aggravate you! After all, who should feel panic when your whole village is being attached by Asgardians, whom you have heard do _not_ indeed _care_ about anything but success?!”

Loki flinches slightly and loosens his hold on her hand a small bit to face her. But either way he opens his mouth to spill any false comforting words she hates, knowing that at least she’ll feel a small bit of comfort at knowing that Loki is here to protect her, nothing more or less. Only, he is harshly interrupted by Darcy being ripped from his grasp.

 

 

Darcy doesn’t quite know what happens, not that she really has an interest in knowing. She only is conscious of the arms around her. Arms which do not belong to Loki or any other Frost Giant here to shake her from her trepidation. Instead, the arms are warm, like her father and hers. But they are not welcoming.

“Let me go, you unfathomable beast!” She shrieks. Her feet kick backwards to feel the body of her captor. She knows that this is a tough decision (having in mind that the last time she tried this it ended up being a Jotun –and not an ‘alien’, as she had guessed rashly- and her ankle had sprained along with her toes damaging for two weeks).

A hand quickly places itself on her mouth, and she screeches louder, hoping that over the sounds of destruction of the battle her scream will become registered.

Hot droplets of tears gradually trail themselves down her pastel skin onto the slayer’s fingers as her body at last slumps against the enemy. She can barely make out the outline of someone else, and Darcy manages to make out their features as well. It’s in this instant when she realizes they strangely look like herself (Midgardians, is what Laufey-King had called them). They do not have blue skin, _or_ red eyes. The only dissimilarity between them and her father is that they are wearing shiny gold armor, and hold weapons. Then Darcy’s eyes fall upon a figure hissing and kicking, trying all his best techniques of self-defense. They are useless to a 900 year old warrior. Even trying to freeze them is ineffective, for they seem to hold an invisible shield.

“Loki!” She tries to scream, but only comes off as muffling. It’s clear that Loki had heard, but he doesn’t even glance up. He continues trying to get free, only to by the end just barely manage a punch followed by a crack coming from the opponent’s jaw.

“Set her free!” Loki demands, as his hands are tightly balled into fists as the Asgardian finally lets him go. He is about to go over to Darcy to do what the intruders had refused to do, but just as he turns Darcy away as to have Loki not be near her, Loki falls to the ground. Darcy shrieks louder and behind, the Asgardian holds a weapon, with his eyes angrily glaring at Loki’s fallen form while holding his jaw.

 

 

_-“All-Father, we have found two children.”_

_“Why are they sprawled in your arms? Have you killed them?”_

_-“No. We did no such thing--”_

_“I beyond doubt anticipate that. You ought to be conscious of my wariness towards harm against infants. No matter what realm they are from.”_

_-“The girl had fallen asleep after shedding tears on our way here. And… the boy had begun to turn violent.”_

_“You have shot him to sleep?”_

_-“There couldn’t have been another way.”_

_-“Do we kill them?”_

_“Of course not! Frigga would be entirely saddened. Set the boy for a short journey to Asgard, my warriors. I do not wish to have him attacking my people before or while we get there.”_

_-“But—All-Father, we cannot take them if they refuse to be part of our world. They would--”_

_“But who ever mentioned taking them both? Surely, knowing each other they will provoke discomfort in everyone they near. And as to the boy, Frigga will make sure he no longer considers himself a Jotun.”_

_-“You plan to use magic?”_

_“I plan to have my wife do it, yes. He is no never remember his true parentage.”_

_-“And the girl?”_

_“Leave the Midgardian girl back where she belongs. She must still have family there.”_

_-“But we don’t know where--”_

_“Then find out!”_

_…_

_-“Yes. Of course.”_

**-Many Years Later-**

Darcy’s gloves don’t do anything to warm his damn hands. She wouldn’t be surprised if her fingers suddenly decided to fall off after turning blue. She’s sort of been waiting for that to happen lately.

“Darcy, I need you to _stop_ staring at your fingers and help me out with this,” Jane’s voice comes from the room next door, where all the… technical things Darcy has barely learned about are. Darcy sighs and jumps off from sitting on the table.

“I was _not_ staring at my fingers.” She responds as she enters the nerd room, where Jane is hurriedly tapping away on her laptop’s keyboard.

“Of course you weren’t.” Jane says, and doesn’t even need to use a sarcastic tone. Not that Jane ever does when she works. Apparently, when she’s staring at the screen she forgets how to talk in another pitch which is _not_ monotone.

“What ‘ya need, Ms. Foster?” Darcy asks in an exaggerated tone. Jane doesn’t even blink.

“First off, make me coffee. I’m going to need all the caffeine I could get.”

Darcy frowns and turns around, throwing her arms in the air, “Of course!,” She says, “You’re an intern and then you turn into a maid! This is succeeding in life, Jane! Take note!”

She knows Jane probably didn’t hear her over the roaring of her own thoughts, but, whatever. Judging on how Erik passes by shaking his head, Dr. Selvig did. Alright. One out of two is perfectly fine. At least Darcy isn’t getting completely ignored.

 

 

After having another battle with the coffee maker pushing random buttons until a creamy texture came out, Darcy finds herself on her way around the establishment, trying to find where the hell Jane is _now._ She could be under the couch, for heaven’s sake. It wouldn’t be the first time Jane is sprawled under the furnace looking for notes ‘she had left there last time’.

“Over here!” Comes Jane’s muffled voice from behind the thick walls.

“On my way up!” Darcy responds, and grimaces once she responds, as she feels the coffee in the mugs splash against the glass. Her beanie is growing uncomfortable now, noticing it threatening to fall off since it’s holding onto the last of her hair and misbalance her in the process. It’s enough that she has to go up some stupid stairs to the roof of the establishment while trying not to drop anything. As devoted Jane can be, Darcy’s sure she wouldn’t appreciate a new brown stain on the carpet.

When Darcy has _finally_ made it up top, the first thing she notices is Jane sitting on the edge while staring into the horizon of the night. One of her legs is bended up while the other dangles below, and her head rests on her knee.

“What? Finally decided to get a break from being the world’s most dedicated meteorologist?” Darcy asks, a smile swaying on her plump red lips. Jane looks over her shoulder and smiles sorrowfully back, her lips turning tight at the forced action. She turns back to her original position.

“Aw, come on, Jane. Give me something to gush about. What got you so gloomy and miserable? Is it the coffee? Should I make you hot chocolate? Don’t worry. I wouldn’t throw it away, though. I’m sure good ‘ol Erik wouldn’t mind at _all_ having twice the coffee to drink. --Oh god. I’m starting to sound like you.”

Jane is laughing, at last, at Darcy’s expense. Darcy, though, never meant to joke around and was completely serious over everything (even feeling horrified at the thought of sound like her boss) but is glad to hear her closest friend’s laugh.

“Oh, Darcy.” Jane sighs, and instantly sounds fed-up once again. Darcy frowns and plops down next to her after leaving the cups on the pavement of the roof.

“You know,” She states after a couple minutes of being in absolute silence and gazing into the heavens at the glowing stars -which were never visible back in New York-, “You are too young to feel regret and misery.”

Jane snorts. “And you aren’t? Hate to break it to you, Darcy, but I’m older than you.”

“I know,” Darcy states with a roll of her eyes, and she leans into Jane to lay her head on her shoulder, “But I have a _reason_ to feel gloomy, and either way I don’t. I’m as happy as ever.” Darcy smiles up at Jane and Jane sighs, but a half smile is on her face so its fine.

“I’m old enough to be bitter.”

“Jane, you’re barely thirty two.”

“As old as a brick. Compared to your twenty two year old self, might as well.”

Darcy gives her a bewildered stare and raises an eyebrow.

“I doubt that’s an expression, and either way, we’re practically equally matured.”

This time, Jane gives her a perplexed look and she shakes her head, chuckling and says, “I really doubt that, Darcy.”

Darcy laughs and swats her away, because, yes, maybe Darcy is not as _close_ to matured as Jane is. But whatever. She doesn’t need that in order to pass through college alive. She just needs a job, her credits, and say the magic word. There you have it. Darcy Lewis successful in life (or as successful working at McDonalds after this could be).

“Jane!” Dr. Selvig’s voice rings from downstairs and both women look over their shoulder in the direction, “I have some coordinates that might interest you!”

 

 

Darcy sits on the brown couch of the living room, bored expression on her face as she flips through the television channels. Jane and Erik had left only about six hours ago, and still haven’t come back. Darcy isn’t surprised as all, though, considering the two care for nothing more but their job. She looks out the back window and sees more wind, faster and stronger. She sighs. Yeah. It’s going to be a while before they get bored and come back.

But then there’s the slam of the front door and the gruff sounding of shoes shuffling against the wood and soon Darcy can hear Erik grumbling under his breath. She hears Jane’s worn out voice, breathless, as she yells, “Darcy?! Would you mind giving us a hand here?”

Darcy sighs and turns off the television from seeing another re-run of The Simpsons, and walks in bare feet towards the direction of their voices, jumping over her shoes dramatically on the way. She stops in her tracks as she catches the sight of Jane bend over a large figure, her arms under the man’s armpits. Dr. Selvig is holding his legs and they seem to be dragging him. Darcy’s mouth opens slightly and her eyebrows rise. Her gaze shifts from Jane, to Erik, to the unconscious man in their arms.

“What the hell…”

Jane visibly flinches at Darcy’s first reaction and tries to pull the man upward, Though the hallway light is off, Darcy can barely see blonde hair in the shine of the living room lamp.

“I didn’t mean to!” Jane says, and Erik grumbles something under his breath, barely comprehensible. Darcy, though, catches it.

“You ran over him with the van?!” She exclaims, and looks up with a bewildered stare to the older woman. Jane doesn’t seem to think straight and throws her arms up to gesture of surrender. It obviously isn’t a calculated move, seeing as the figure’s elbows lower and his head smacks against the wall, making a loud banging noise. The three of them tense up and don’t move for a moment. Darcy’s eyes widen even more as she eyes the figure even more taken aback and she looks up to meet with Jane’s own broadened eyes. Jane gives her a regretful smile.

“I didn’t mean to…?” She squeaks out hopefully. Darcy swallows and turns her head to Erik, who finally drops the man’s legs seeing as Jane isn’t carrying onto his weight anymore.

“We should probably do something.” Darcy says dumbly.

 

 

“I didn’t exactly sign up to deal with men held hostage,” Darcy says in a flat tone as she observes the body on the couch (where she _should_ be, watching the television and sipping on hot chocolate), “But at least he isn’t half as bad as what I would have guessed.”

Jane hisses her name and tells her that it is _not_ the time to check man out, though Darcy clearly sees how her boss’ eyes linger on the six pack of the stranger she has managed to ‘put to sleep’ (in friendly terms) out of nowhere. They had stripped him from his shirt, since it was filled with dirt from the desert Jane had run over him on, though no one dared strip him from his (odd) bottoms.

“He is _not_ held hostage. We will simply wait until he wakes up and apologize for, uh,” Jane harshly turns around and pretends to be busy looking through, “The inconvenience.”

Darcy snorts at her choice of words and casually sits on the couch, on the space the stranger’s feet leave as they relax on the armrest. She grabs the remote control and shrugs, looking through again, as Jane gapes at her.

“Darcy, you can’t just sit on the man’s feet!” She hisses while throwing her arms behind her as if to gesture to the whole room. Darcy looks up from watching yet another episode of Homer strangling Bart and furrows her eyebrows.

“Why?”

Jane just grumbles something under her breath and stalk towards the kitchen. Darcy turns to stare over her shoulder in the direction that Jane’s back is descending and yells, “Shouldn’t we take him to the hospital or something to make sure he isn’t hurt?”. Erik passes by and doesn’t look over his notebook as he says something about already checking for any injuries and finding none, and disappearing as sudden as he first appeared. Darcy wonders what Dr. Selvig _can’t_ do. It’s until then that she notices the couch is shifting furiously and she tenses, her hand motionless on the remote and her eyes widen.

“Uh, Jane.” Darcy says, not daring to turn around. No response.

“Jane?” She says a bit louder and slowly moves to set down the control on the coffee table. She still receives no reply and her breathing begins to labor.

“Jane!”

“ _What?!_ ” Jane’s annoyed voice finally comes from the kitchen over the counter, and by her tone of voice Darcy already knows she’s looking towards her with a irritated gaze. But it’s too late. Darcy jumps up and turns around to just barely see as the blonde man reveals angry blue eyes as they snap open and he hastily stands up, looking across the room with his fists balled up, and his eyes settle on Darcy.

“Who are you!” He yells and grabs Darcy’s arm. She yelps and tries to pull away, but his grip is tight and it{s slightly starting to make her arm go limb.

“Let go of me! It fucking hurts, asshole!” She screams, and tries to break away once again. To her surprise, he does just that and lets her arm (which now has a temporal white mark of a large hand) free, quickly with drawing it as if he’d just been burned.

From the background, as Darcy rubs her arm where it still aches, she can see Jane having a small panic attack and Darcy thinks _yeah, well, at least you’re, like, at least three meters away and he didn’t assault you._ The man throws his hands up and glares at Darcy, briefly turning his back to her to furiously push the lamp on the nightstand and make it smash into the wall.

“How dare a mere mortal speak to me such as that!” He exclaims, and turns back to Darcy to once again send daggers her way from his blue eyes, while Darcy gapes at him while clutching at her television remote control, “How dare you speak to the soon-to-be King of Asg --”

Jane’s eyes widen as she sees him fall to the ground and twitch a bit on the floor before falling still, and she gawks at Darcy who’s staring with wide eyes at the now still figure, with a taser in hand.

“Darcy?! Why did you do that!” Jane exclaims, and stalks towards her, only to stop at the other side of the body.

“What?” Darcy says back with a hint of panic in her tone, and glances from the blonde back to her, “He was scaring me!”

Jane doesn’t respond, and instead shakes her head. She bends over to crouch down right in front of the blonde’s face and Darcy eyes Jane cautiously, chooses not to mention how Jane’s eyes gloom over every feature of his face and even lingers on his lips. (Though Darcy, personally, doesn’t think that Jane’s first relationship after four years should be with a street maniac whom she’s almost killed once). Darcy slowly walks closer and with the tip of her bare feet, her toe pushes at his pale face. They watch as if uselessly flops to face the other side and Darcy leisurely places her foot back down.

“Do you think he’s dead?” Darcy asks the question they were both dreading, since neither of them dared to check his pulse or breathing.

Erik finds that instant, after hearing all the disturbing ruckus, the right moment to emerge from stairs in that moment, and once seeing that the blonde is now on the floor in a different position as to when he was on the couch (with the other’s legs bent awkwardly), he sighs, says, “Great. Again.”


End file.
